


The Taming of the Hawk

by Angel0y



Category: One Piece
Genre: Action/Adventure, Eventual Romance, F/M, Original Character(s), Past Rape/Non-con, Romance, Slow Burn, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:33:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24903886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angel0y/pseuds/Angel0y
Summary: Ever wonder why Mihawk allowed Zoro and Perona to stay on the island, even though he obviously preferred to be alone? It was because they weren't the first unexpected visitors to share his home. A girl, before any of them, washed up on shore, a near broken shell, and through some miracle on high, somehow managed to gain favor with the Worlds' Greatest Swordsman.
Relationships: Dracule Mihawk/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33





	1. Upon a Foggy Night

Time had lost meaning long ago. Reason and logic had fled, leaving only instinct behind. That instinct said _'Hold On'._ So hold on she did. The shattered remains of what had once been part of a ship heaved under her as another wave rolled by. Jagged nails dug in deeper to the edges and frigid seawater coated her again. The planking under her left splinters in her skin, but was large enough to support her body as it bobbed through the water.

Another wave sent the pitiful excuse for a lifeboat swaying again and caused a new jolt of pain to rip through her body. Her muscles had long since gone numb, locked in place and leaving her clinging to the edges of the door sized chuck of wood. She was fairly certain she'd lost consciousness several times, but somehow her body had still hung onto the floating debris.

A cough racked her suddenly, sending agony shooting though her. Too many injuries on her person, she'd lost count of them all. Weakness was starting to take over. The cold embrace of the sea was calling to her. Cawing like an ocean bird, luring her in...

The call came again and a moment of clarity broke through. That call...it wasn't death...it was...

Blue eye blinked, refocusing to see a thick fog around her. The sloshing of the wave overwhelmed her dilated senses for a moment, before she heard it again. The caw of a bird. Birds lived near land, not out on the open sea.

There was a flicker of something in her chest. Something other than pain and despair. She didn't dare try to believe it was hope. As the rolling waves moved on, the fog parted slightly and blearily, she saw tall dark trees and strange hills that curled into themselves. Gasping a bit and feeling her heart speed up, she struggled to move her body. Her muscles practically creaked and groaned at being asked to move and the searing ache in her body brought tears to her eyes, but she managed to slip her legs into the ocean.

The water would have been freezing and would have made anyone else yelp in shock, but her nerve endings had gone numb long ago. Ever hungry for ending lives, the cruel ocean enveloped her, the current dragging her downwards. Muffled silence flooded her ears, her thumping heartbeat one of the only things she could hear.

Legs kicked and her head broke the surface with a gasp. Oxygen filled her lungs, as well as a mouthful of salty liquid. Then there was something solid under her bare feet, something that didn't heave in protest. Air hit her skin, hands grasped fistfuls of wet sand as she pulled herself onto the shoreline through a force of will she didn't even know she possessed. When finally her whole body was on the landmass and the waves of the ocean no longer touched her, she allowed herself to finally collapse.

The next time she opened her eyes, what filled her vision was the wispy air and ominous trees looming high above her.

_Must've blacked out again...Damn._ A pained groan rolled from between her lips as she rolled onto her stomach. Pushing herself to her knees, she clutched one arm around her lower torso and hissed through clenched teeth. _Broken ribs...fantastic._

The chilly air was making itself known on her now dry skin. Shivers started to wrack her form. That surprised her, she didn't think her body had that kind of energy to spare. But it was welcomed, it meant she was still alive.

_For now anyway._ Staring into the eerie, black forest, she painfully climbed to her feet. Shelter was the first thing she needed to find, someplace to try and warm up a little. As though the world hear her thoughts, a wind gusted past, making her hunch her shoulders. When she looked up again, far, far away in the distance, she spotted something that may have been some kind of building.

That could work...but it was **miles** away. A near whine exited pasted her lips before she could stop it. _Saved from dying in the ocean, only to die on a spooky, abandoned island. Who the hell did I piss off in my last life?_ Her blackened, sarcastic thoughts found no answer in the still air of the island.

Walking hurt. **ALOT**. Hell, at this point, breathing hurt. Spending what she assumed to be a few days drifting at sea, not to mention the abuse before the storm had hit had defiantly not yielded a kind result. Limping along slowly and chronically wincing, she made progress into the dank, oddly silent forest _(it had to be a trick of her senses that the air seemed to smell a little too strongly of blood and smoke)._ Rocks and sticks cut into her feet, sharp branches scrapped her skin and tangled in her hip length hair, but she forced herself to keep moving.

A CRACK sounded in the distance. Freezing in place, she darted her eyes around, looking for the source. Shadows moved behind the trees. Really big shadows. Growls cut through the air and red eyes glared outwards. She moved backwards, heart thundering in her chest and adrenaline starting to course through her veins even as she spoke her first words in days,

"Should have stayed in the fucking water..."

Then she ran like hell, hearing bloodthirsty hoots follow close behind.

* * *

A quick pull on the rope secured his vessel to the dock. The knot was tight and wouldn't slip, the candles on the edges had burnt out along the way. He'd need to replace them, but for now, he was mildly glad to be back on solid ground again.

Sharp, gold eyes surveyed his island. It was as he had left it. Silent, still and dark with the scent of wet earth and a metallic tang. His tall boots crunched the ground with only the softest of sounds, idlily wondering if it was old bones under his feet. The thought was brushed aside and replaced with a more interesting one.

"Roronoa Zoro…" The name slipped past his lips almost against his will and a barely seen muscle twitch in an almost smile. But of course, his expression remained solemn and serious. Dracule Mihawk was not a man to express emotion unnecessarily. Even when thinking about a brash, inexperienced swordsman, albeit one with some small measure of promise. He would most defiantly be keeping an eye on the young warrior, if only to alleviate his own boredom for a time.

As he walked through the forest of Kuraigana Island, enjoying the oppressive silence of his chosen home, the screaming battle cries of the Humadrills split the air in the distance. His pace didn't waver in the slightest, the baboons won't dare come near him. Another series of jagged howls came and this time, Mihawk flicked his namesake eyes towards the sound.

Senses tuned far beyond what any normal human could hope to achieve honed in on the disturbance the intelligent apes were causing. A quick surge of Kenbunshoku Haki flared up and his vision shifted in perspective.

Several of the primeapes were running in the distance, moving quickly and in coordination. Barely twenty feet ahead, a second presence fled widely, waves of fear rolling off them, but a nearly muted sliver of steely determination shining through. Though with the weakened state of the individual, even the most stubborn of wills would break quickly, given the black shade associated with death that colored the edges of the yellow hued aura he saw.

Shifting his stance slightly, Mihawk waited. The Humandrills prey was heading right for him and mild curiosity at the uninvited visitor to his island made him willing to wait and see if they even made it to him before the monkeys caught up. Out of caution, he scanned the distance for more intruders, surprised when he found no other living auras then the Humandrills and their target.

Speaking of which...Mihawk glanced back towards the commotion just as tree branches parted and a flesh colored blur flew out of the darkness. His eyebrows raised up a fraction of an inch at the movement. Not because of the appearance of the person, but because of her state of dress. Or rather lack there of. The female running for her life was bare as the day she was born.

As he stood stoically in place, the girl finally looked up from her frantic dash. And her response to his presence was not what he was expecting. Instead of desperately begging for his aid, pleading for her life, she skidded to a stop so suddenly she fell on her backside. Blue eyes opened so wide he saw the red edges of her eyelids and a wheezing, terror laced scream exited her lips.

Mihawk watched passively as the women scrambled backwards, feet slipping in the dirt as she twisted onto her front and crawled away as fast as humanly possible. Behind her, the Humandrills leapt from the treeline and promptly froze at the site of the World's Greatest Swordsmen. He ignored the apes in favor of studying the flailing form of the women at his feet. She finally managed to push herself up...only to trip on the roots of one of the trees and crash to the ground again.

He waited for a few heartbeats. The girl didn't move. Walking over, he looked down at her. She'd fallen and hit her head on a rock, knocking herself unconscious and causing a trickle of blood to flow to the ground. He nearly rolled his eyes. She'd fought that hard to escape the monsters of the isle, only to leave herself helpless at the sight of him.

But as his trained eyes flicked over her form, understanding blossomed. The women was an absolute wreck. What skin wasn't colored black and blue was brunt red from exposure. Cuts, scraps, gashes and lacerations coated her body, some fresh wounds openly oozing crimson liquid while others were older and scabbed over. A frown marred his expression as he studied her and replayed the event in his mind.

There had been no recognition in her expression when she'd seen him. Mihawk was more than accustom to people noticing him, staring at him and in most cases, nearly soiling themselves in fear, but this girl hadn't reacted in that manner. No, her actions had a much deeper meaning, more primal and instinctive.

His gaze trailed from her feet and climbed up her form, aura darkening as he saw distinctive fingerprint bruises on her hips and bare breasts as well as a red crusted crescent-shaped mark on her shoulder that only human teeth could replicate.

The Humandrills in the distance shifted slightly, sensing his mood blackening, but still unwilling to leave their prey, unsure of what he would do. And truthfully, Mihawk was unsure as well. This girl was an uninvited presence on his isle and however unfortunate her situation was, he owned her nothing. Gold eyes glanced up at the muscle bound apes. If he walked away, the violent creatures would tear the girl apart and another litter of bones would join the blood soaked grounds. That didn't really bother him very much.

On the other hand, his recent encounter at the Baratie and brief visit with Shanks had left him in a rather generous mood. Life had ceased being interesting or challenging, leading the Shichibukai to seek alleviation of the mononoms drone in other ways. And this girl was indeed something unexpected, something to alter his routine for a time. At least till he grew annoyed of the company, which he undoubtable would.

Plus, the girl had fought valiantly for her life, pressing on when more resilient beings would have happily submitted to fate. She had a tenacity rarely seen in this age. That alone made him slightly more willing to help. There was no value in allowing someone to live that didn't possess a strong will to survive.

And despite himself _(and he would sell Yoru on the black market before ever admitting it),_ seeing the physical marks of brutality on the women stirred a righteous rage and desire to peel the skin off whomever had harm her. He did not support weakness, the world was a cruel and harsh place that allowed only the strongest to prosper, but human savagery on this level crossed a line that he abhorred.

Decision made, Mihawk bent down and scooped the naked women into his arms. The Humadrills faded back into their forest without further protest. As he lifted the girl, she whimpered softly and turned her head away from him. A tiny smirk graced his lips. _Clever girl. Even with her sense muted, she recognizes danger._

Turning, he started the trek back to his castle. It had been sometime since he'd had another's presence in his home. This might prove to be interesting yet.

* * *

**Well, I originally intended this chapter to be longer, but this feels like a good place to end it as an opening.**

**I will be attempting to a add some Japanese content to the story, but I am full blow Canadian born and raised, so I might screw up a bit. Most of the info I'm using is from the One Piece Wiki and the Funamation anime, so I apologise if I miss something.**

**In the meantime, I hope I managed to capture Dracule Mihawk correctly. I've always liked his character in the anime and am always browsing the fanfics for new stories about him. As so little is truly known about him, it give some wiggle room to be creative.**

**Anyway, I hope everyone likes the first chapter and please feel free to review if you do.**


	2. Promises and Faith

_She dreamed of fields of green grass and a kind, loving smile that always lifted her mood. O_ _f angry voices, sounds of conflict and crimson liquid running down walls..._

_She dreamed of heaving floors, dark walls, salt scented air and cold metal. O_ _f mocking laughter and searing pain and screaming protests..._

_She dreamed of crashing thunder and splintering wood. Of fridge winds and the icy embrace of waves..._

_She dreamed of clawed hands wrenching and pulling her into darkness. O_ _f unnatural golden eyes burning with deadly intensity and violence..._

Jerking awake with a sudden scream, Tamara bolted upright. And promptly hugged her middle with both arms, collapsing backwards with a pained cry as agony ripped through her, stealing all breath from her lungs. For a while, all she could do was pant helplessly. After a bit, the pain started to fade away and her senses started to become aware of her surroundings. The surface under her back was soft. That was alarming in itself, seeing as her last clear memory was running from weapon wielding baboons.

She didn't have the mental clarity at the moment to process how bizarre that was.

As her vision cleared, Tamara turned her head and looked around. She was inside a room, a big room, dimly lit by candles on the walls. The bed under her was comfy, and a thick blanket covered her legs. After reassuring herself that there was no one lurking in the deep shadows, she turned her attention to her own person.

She was dressed? Well...sort of. Someone had put a shirt on her, one far too large with a ruffled neck and a spicy, masculine scent clinging to it. Tamara could feel the itch and scratch of bandages over her body and when she lifted her hand to study the palm, the deep scraps from multiple falls had been cleaned of dirt and rocks.

Now, confusion and panic started to rise up. Pushing onto her elbows, while fighting back the urge to yelp again, she surveyed the room a second time. _"Still alone...how'd I get here?"_ Struggling to recall past events, all that came to mind was a tall shadowed silhouette with piercing yellow circles that held no hint of warmth. Tamara's heart started to speed up.

Carefully moving into a sitting position, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. Which took far longer than she would have liked and made her head spin but after a few moments, she noticed a bed stand tucked next to the headboard. A tall glass filled with what looked like water and a plate with a small loaf of bread sat on top, looking both highly suspicion and incredible tempting at the same time.

Her stomach clenched tightly at the sight of the food, growling loudly. Swallowing hard, and trying to ignore the sensation of razor blades stuck in her throat, Tamara looked to the door quickly. It remained shut and pausing to listen intently to her surroundings yielded nothing. Aside from her own breathing and the occasion soft swish from the candle-flames, the castle was silent and still.

Sapphire orbs glanced back at the food. It might be poisoned or drugged, but her body craved the nutrients desperately. Reaching out a trembling hand, Tamara carefully picked up the glass, eyes darting back to the door as though expecting a daemon to burst through at any moment. Sniffing the liquid, she swallowed again, debating on her choices.

Eat and maybe die, or ignore the offer and leave herself in a more weaken state. Licking her lips she finally mutter softly to herself, "Screw it...things can't get much worst."

The first few sips felt like she was swallowing sandpaper, but the soothing liquid eventually calmed her ragged throat. Setting the glass aside, Tamara stared hard at the door as she pulled the bread apart and devoured it ravenously. Her lower lip was split and cracked open as she chewed, adding a salty metallic tang to the meal, but she was far more worried about whoever or whatever had fixed her up and what their intentions were.

Feeling slightly better with food in her system, Tamara slowly pushed herself to her feet. The bandages wrapped around her soles, and adding pressure to them nearly drove her to her knees, but she pushed back the pain forcefully. Cold air wisped over her skin and made her shiver violently. The shirt hit mid thigh, the sleeves fell over her hands and one shoulder kept sliding out, but she was grateful for at least some coverage.

Rolling up the cuffs to free her hands, Tamara she took a few steps forward. Wobbling a bit, she reached out to balance herself on a chair at the foot of the bed. Blinking a few times to adjust her vision to the dim light, she focused on the items resting on it...and stared in disbelief.

There was a simple dark cloak tossed over the back of the chair. That wasn't what caught her eye though. A gold sheathed dagger inlay-ed with precious gems sat on the seat and gleamed in the low light. The hilt looked to be made of ivory with a cross shaped guard and a round pommel.

Looking up again, she scanned the room, just to assure herself there was no Visual Den Den recording everything. Who the hell would was willing to give her a weapon? Recalling the dark figure that had sparked absolute, soul freezing terror in her, another thought hit her. _"Is this some kind of game? Some twisted way for someone to get their jollies off? Give someone a flicker of hope...only to rip it away?"_

"Wouldn't surprise me, this has to be the most demented mindfuck ever..."

Still, she wasn't going to turn down any form of defense. Picking it up, she wrapped her hand around the hilt, grabbed the sheath and gently pulled. The double edged weapon slid out partway from the holder, silver metal showing her face. Tamara barely recognized her reflection with all the bruises.

Another shiver ran through her and goosebumps rose on her skin. Re-sheathing the dagger, Tamara picked up the cloak and wrapped it around herself. The heavy material immediately fell to her ankles and blocked out the most of the icy chill. Securing it at her neck, her brow furrowed slightly and she lifted the edge, giving the cloth a healthy sniff.

It was the same scent that clung to the shirt she wore. A dark, heady aroma that spoke of strength and confidence. Tamara might have enjoyed it a few months ago. Now it made her shudder and tighten her grip on the dagger. Carefully making her way to the door, she stood to the side and reached out to test the doorknob. It wasn't locked.

Somehow that made her more afraid.

Unsheathing the weapon, she poked her head out into the dark hallway. Old, Gothic architect walls and stone floors with no carpets. On the right, the hall ended in a large cathedral window with an opening on one side that held a pair of curving stairs leading upwards. The left stretched into darkness. No other movement or sound stirred.

Her eyes adjusted to the gloom as she slipped through the door. Pale, foggy light flitted through the window and she took her time walking down the hall, sticking to the walls, moving in a crouch and used her bare toes and knuckles as guides when the darkness became too thick to see. Her fingers started to ache a bit from gripping the hilt too hard, but seeing as ever movement hurt, Tamara didn't think much of it.

The hall had several doors on each side. She didn't open any, more concerned with land mapping her current location. Finally,after what felt like ages, the walls ended and a grand set of stairs appeared. A massive set of double doors graced the far wall. Glancing at the doors, Tamara bit her lower lip, tasting blood again. That was obviously an exit and it was unguarded. But she was in no condition to be running around in the island wilderness. Hell, she didn't even have shoes on.

There was a distance glow emitting from somewhere on the lower level. The change in lighting from the dismal illumination she'd been walking through was like looking into the sun. Her heart jumped into her throat before she dropped to one knee. Holding her breath, she waited, peering through the rungs of the thick banister. The light flickered occasionally.

Firelight...fires didn't start themselves indoor. Someone was there. Tamara carefully sucked in a breath, debating her options. She could run, the door was right there. But how far would she logically get? Looking down at the blade in her hand, she swallowed hard. Standing, she removed the long cloak from her shoulders and set it over the banister before moving slowly down the stairs.

Focusing on breathing through her nose and placing her feet silently with each step, she moved towards the brightness and ignored the odd aqua color it gave off. Carefully staying out of the glow to avoid casting a shadow, Tamara pressed her back to the wall and listened to the sounds around the open stone doorway.

The crackle of a fire and swish of flames. She heard something that sounded like paper crinkling, the barely heard rasp of moving cloth and an odd _tink_ noise. As far as she could tell, there was only one person in the room. She had a chance against that, with surprise on her side. Tightening her grip on the dagger, Tamara mentally braced and ready herself to strike.

"I left that blade to reassure you, Little Thing. Not to use against me."

The low, calm male tenor that suddenly split the oppressive silence made a scream catch in her throat and her heart drop to her feet.

_"I am so fucked..."_

* * *

Tart, acidic and earthy, with a lingering flavor of juniper and black current.

Swallowing the mouthful of burgundy liquid, Mihawk debated the liquor in his glass. A newer wine, younger than he would have normally chosen, but not unpleasant. He would add the vintage to his collection. Setting the glass back onto the side table, he continued reading his book. The room was warmed by the low burning pyre he'd stoked, the flames taking on the eerie green tint that always happened to fire around him.

Mihawk suspected his Haki was the cause of the color change, but it wasn't interesting enough to him to warrant investigation. 

The silence of his estate was interrupted by a barely heard noise. Anyone else would have never detected the faint sound, but he was far from an average man. Still, it didn't cause a response from him, aside from turning to the next page. He wasn't one to offer comfort, even to a women screaming. Despite his outward inattentiveness, Mihawk was well aware of the movement of his guest after she rose. His heightened senses kept track of her easily, though she was certainly making great efforts to avoid detection.

And against anyone else, she would have likely succeeded. Rather impressive, given her condition.

Sipping again at his beverage, enjoying the bitter taste, he allowed the women to creep to the edge of the door. The hiss of steel on air whispered in his ear, unmistakable to his swordsmen senses. _Kogatana_ gave a barely felt hum in warning, though he knew full well his master was aware of the minuscule threat. Mihawk allowed the girl to prep herself before finally speaking.

The Shichibukai was surprised she didn't faint, given how her aura stuttered in sudden fear and the squeaking gasp she sucked in.

Silence descended again and he continued to read. He waited with patience born of years of practice, nearly forgetting about the other presence outside lounge room. Till he heard the slide of metal and a tiny _clink._ The vibration of the blade faded and Mihawk almost smiled. She'd re-sheathed the weapon, this women was clever indeed.

Her voice was dry and raspy, wavering in uncertainty, "Where is this?"

Amusement flicker briefly. Not the first question he was expecting, most people would have demanded his identity. But seeing as she had yet to even show herself, and the fact that she'd actually been ready to attack him without qualm, Mihawk supposed expecting conventional responses from her was misplaced.

"Come into the light if you wish to converse. I dislike speaking to those who lurk in the shadows." It reminded him too much of talking to Gekko Moriah and his distaste for the _Kage Kage no Mi_ user.

Another lengthy period of time passed. He heard the girl shifting back and forth, possibly trying to decide if she should run or brave facing him. It made no difference to him, if she wished to flee back into the forest, he would not go out of his way to help her a second time. Finally in his peripheral vision, he saw the tips of fingers appear around the doorway, slowly followed by a body. Mihawk didn't raise his head, looking for all intent like he was completely ignoring her,which on some level, he was.

She was standing with her side facing him, head turned and eyes intently studying him. A defense tactic, making herself as small a target as possible. Mihawk could taste the suspicion radiating from her and heard her fingers tighten on the daggers hilt.

He reached over and picked up his glass, noting that she'd stiffened even more at the movement and took a small sip before speaking, still not looking at her.

"The cowl was meant to shield you from the cold."

Setting his glass back down and turning to the next page, her response had him catching a chuckle in his throat, "It was noisy...Where is this?"

Her logic was sound and raised Mihawk's regard of her by a tiny fraction. Her intent had been stealth, loose cloth negated that purpose.

Mihawk took a moment to study the women, though she would never have known as he didn't move his eyes. She was still a walking disaster. If anything, cleaning and dressing her wounds had made her appearance look worst. Her long hair was matted and still very dirty. He thought it might be blond in color, but it was hard to tell. The bruises were more prominent now that 24 hours ago when he'd cleaned them. And her left eye was nearly swollen shut.

He was honestly surprised that she'd woken up as quickly as she had and that she was moving around, a resilient individual indeed. Though judging from how hard she was struggling not to shiver, he doubted she be able to hold the image of bravery for long,

"The island is called Kuraigana. You are in the remains of the fallen Shikkearu Kingdom." He felt no need to elaborate further, but evidently his explanation was for naught,

"Which is where exactly?"

"Paradise."

"The Grand Line?!"

Mihawk almost looked up but resisted the urge with ease. Alarm pitched her voice a octave higher and caused it to crack more, "Indeed...I will assume from your surprise, you are not from this ocean."

"Gods no..." She mumbled soft enough that he might have missed it if he hadn't been paying attention. That was an interesting tidbit of information to have. _"Where is she from if not the Grand Line?"_

The girl shifted again, eyes flicking back over her shoulder before refocusing back at him. He saw white teeth flash as she took her lower lip between them before speaking in a voice that quivered, but held a undertone of steel,

"W-what do you want from me?"

Again, another unusual question. Mihawk recalled the malnourished state she'd been in and the wounds he'd treated. He supposed it wasn't unreasonable for her to ask him that. Experiences such as she'd had tended to shatter all faith one had in humankind, particularly in the male portion. Turning a page, he responded with little pause,

"I require nothing from you, nor anyone else."

"You expect me to believe that?"

Mihawk finally raised his face to look at her, his gaze darkening ever so slightly. The girl flinched so hard she actually took a small step back, "You're current state allows me to overlook that comment. However, should you question my honor again, I will not be so lenient."

He looked back down at his book, feeling no remorse over the terror he'd just inflicted on the traumatized women.

* * *

Tamara frantically resisted the urge to run like hell. Those gold eyes were soulless pits of death. Even the dagger in her hands offered no comfort. The man before her radiated power on a God-like level. Which made some sense. The Grand Line did not breed weakness, someone had to be monstrously strong to survive here. They didn't call it the _'Pirate Graveyard'_ for nothing. Hell, he might even have a Devil Fruit power.

She waited with baited breath for the male sitting primly in the winged armchair to spring forward and finish his threat. But he didn't, merely turning attention back to his book. After a few minutes on standing stupidly in place with nothing else happening, Tamara swallowed. The cold of the castle was starting to pierce deep into her system, she'd lost feeling in her toes long ago. But the two legged predator demanded her full and complete attention.

His deep voice broke the air again, "Return to your room or step closer to the fire. The chattering of your teeth is becoming tiresome."

Her teeth weren't chattering at all actually, she'd clamped her jaw shut to prevent that, but arguing that fact was pointless.

Tamara swallowed again. He hadn't done anything, hadn't moved at all. That didn't lessen the danger he poised, but the slightly difference in temperature in the room compared to where she stood was tempting. And she still had so many question she needed answered.

Slowly, hyper focused on the yellow eyed man, she stepped into the room. The warmth hit her skin, causing pins and needles to run through her system. A snail would have passed by her, but she forced herself to keep moving. The air felt like a thousand gnats were buzzing around. She wasn't sure if that was because of feeling returning to her limbs or because of the presence of the man in the chair.

She wasn't going to think about the fact that the flames were green, it was hard enough to keep her head as it was

Slipping behind the high back of a second armchair set across from the occupied one to keep a barrier between them, Tamara shifted to keep him in full vision. He made no move, didn't acknowledge her at all. She waited in silence, expecting some other comment to be said. After a bit, she finally spoke,

"Is there anyone else on the island?"

A page turned as he responded, "No villages or ports, if that is what you're asking. The Humandrills may count as something, but asides from that, there is nothing else."

"Humandrills…?" She felt her brow furrow in confusion at the unfamiliar term.

"Intelligent apes that learn to mimic humans by studying them from a distance. This land was ravaged by a war roughly 9 years ago. The Humandrills watched the results and adapted accordingly. They are not to be underestimated. How did you come to be here?"

Well, there went her plan of running away. Not that she would have stood much of a chance, even without killer monkeys on the loose. Tamara absorbed and filed away the information for later as she debated about how to answer the return question,

"Err...the ship I was on got caught in a wicked storm. Or at least I think it did. Part of the side got ripped open and I was swept out to sea. Don't really remember much till I washed up on shore. Even then its...kinda blurry."

She waited for the interrogation to start, for him to ask what she was doing on the ship, who she was with and what had happened, bracing for the host of horrific memories survival instinct had pushed to the far corners of her mind. When he spoke again, the question wasn't what she expected,

"How old are you?"

"What's the date?" She smoothly countered. He responded in kind, "July 10th."

A sharp intake of breath wasn't something she could stop as shock hit her like a hammer as she murmured softly to herself, "July...? I-I'm 26 as of three days ago...damn..."

"Truly?" 

Shock was gone and irritation replaced it making her snap back testily, as she hadn't intended for him to hear that, "Yes, truly!"

Okay, yes, Tamara was a little sensitive about the fact that she still looked like teenager despite her age. Or would have looked like a youth if she didn't currently look like a living zombie. Suddenly realizing that she'd just snarled at a man that could probably kill her without moving, she opened her mouth to apologize and beg for forgiveness.

The sound of a velvet smooth rumble reached her ears and made her freeze. It took a moment to recognize the sound. He was laughing at her. Well...it was more like a deep chested chuckle, sounding almost like a growl.Tamara swallowed hard as the sound faded and the tiniest of smirks could be seen on his face,

"No need to get heated, Little Thing. I was simply curious." The book he held gestured to the empty chair she hid behind, "You may sit. If fact, you probably should sit. Don't worry, I won't bite."

At that comment, terror filled her and black memories flooded her mind, causing her breath to hitch in panic. The junction of her neck flared and she clutched at the spot with her free hand, feeling the band-aid under her fingers, remembering the feel of harsh hands and ripping, tearing sensation of blunt teeth...

Gold eyes looked up, freezing her in place again. There was still no emotion in the gaze, and the amusement from earlier was gone, replaced by the stony expression he'd constantly worn, but neither was there any threat. And when he spoke again, the tone was a fraction softer,

"A poor choice of words on my part, I apologize. If you wish, I give my word that I will not lay single finger upon your person without expressed permission from this moment onward."

Her hummingbird heartbeat fluttered in her chest as she fought to keep from screaming. His voice, so confident and powerful, spoke of honesty, lighting a tiny flicker of hope. Doubt plagued her, but she clung to the promise. She had to, otherwise she was going to break down in tears. As it was, she felt moisture gathering at the corners of her eyes.

Her voice whispered back, heavy with disbelief, "R-really? Y-you really mean that...?"

He gave a single nod, still looking at her and waiting. She somehow managed to nod back and apparently satisfied with that, he shifted his attention back to his book. She waited a bit before she slid around the tall armchair, inches at a time. Finally she was in front and slowly she sat, feeling her whole body sing in relief. She hadn't realized just how much she'd been aching till then.

A long pause carried on as she simply tried to recover. The man paid her no mind, the only sounds heard being the fire and occasional sip of wine and page turn. Tamara gathered her voice and questioned him again,

"How long can I stay here?"

He finally moved, setting down his empty glass and turning his body to pour a fresh drink from a dark bottle. She was barely aware that she'd tensed up and partially drawn the dagger out of its sheath. If the man noticed her movements, he pretended not to and settled back into his previous position.

"As long as you like, or until I tire of your company, whichever comes first." Tamara was pretty sure the latter would happen first, seeing as she had no where else to go now. He kept speaking, "In either case, you are welcome to remain till you've fully recovered."

She blinked several times, feeling a silver of solid hope started to build up, "I...th-that's...who are you?"

He didn't answer right away, seeming to enjoy the suspense.

" _'Hawkeye'_ Mihawk."

Tamara stared at him in disbelief before speaking, "That's not funny."

"I wasn't attempting to be humorous."

She was pretty sure she'd just blacked out with her eyes open, seeing as her heartbeat had just stopped cold.

* * *

Mihawk really hoped the girl wasn't going to faint, though a tiny part was amused that she'd thought he was joking. With him having promised not to touch her without approval, her being unconscious would make moving her very annoying. He counted to thirty silently before speaking again,

"Breath, Little Thing..."

A sharp gasp filled the air. Her aura's energy was jumping everywhere, though it wasn't the same blind panic he'd accidentally caused earlier with his careless comment. This was more stunned shock and disbelief, something he was accustom to causing when he passed through crowds of people that recognized him.

She was probably recalling every rumor she'd ever heard and wondering why the hell she was still breathing.

Time lost meaning. The silence stretched on and he relished it. He'd finish his book before retiring for the night, otherwise he'd be wondering about the ending till morning. As he swallowed another mouthful of wine, a quivering whisper split the peaceful quiet,

"I...I apologize...if I offended."

She was a polite thing, he'd give her that. Her aura had settled, the fearful energy pushed back and the willful strength he'd seen before shining through. The girl was ready to face her fate, and if it meant death by his hand, so be it. Not that he had any reason to kill her, she was no threat, but he didn't intend to tell her that.

He had no need to reassure her, but the sigh of relief was palpable at his response,

"You did not."

Silence descended again. Mihawk checked her spiritual energy with a quick surge of Haki. It waned low, very low. He was guessing she'd powered through her exhaustion via adrenaline and sheer stubbornness, "You should return to your room. Your body needs rest to heal."

Teeth caught lip and he saw a flash of red from the action. She nodded softly, shifting forward and suddenly hissing out in pain between clenched teeth. He gave her a few moments to recover before speaking again,

"Do you require assistance?"

"No!"

Her sharp response held barely restrained notes of terror, likely not from his status, but because of his gender. He ignored the slight twinge in his chest. Her tone softened immediately and her head bowed slightly, though he noted that she still watched him carefully, "No...thank you...Mihawk-san...I-I can manage on my own."

He nodded in response and waited till she'd pushed herself to her feet before moving. Setting aside his book on the table, Mihawk stood with a causal grace, ignoring the girls coiling muscles, before walking over to a small ledge in the wall. Striking a match, he lit a small candle in a round holder and carried it back, turning the brass holding so the round handle faced her,

"No need to have you stumbling around blindly, yours is last door on the right." She hesitantly reached out and took the offered light, though he noted she was very careful to avoid touching him and her voice had a tiny note of petulance when she responded,

"I know the way….thank you."

Bent but not broken, she still had spirit left in her. He sat back down and picked up his book without another word.

The girl slowly made her way to the door and Mihawk saw her glance back at him as she reached the door before leaving. He tracked her movements through the estate, if for no other reason than if she was going to pass out, he didn't want to trip on her when he returned to his room. Once he noted that she'd made it safely to her room and her aura settled into a peaceful hum, he returned his full attention to his book, completely forgetting about her.

It never even passed through his mind that he hadn't asked for her name.

* * *

Far away from the dark, gloomy isle, a large ship limped into a distance port. It was heavily wounded, with torn sails and jagged hole punctured through the hull.

The dockworkers of the unnamed island looked over the damaged vessel with pity. The wild and unpredictable weather of the Grand Line could sink even the strongest of boats. Barters were made and repairs started on the vessel.

Nothing out of the ordinary seemed to occur, it was a standard event in this dangerous ocean. No one in the town noticed the four individuals that left the ship and faded silently into the crowd.


	3. Round 1: Breakfast

Reality and dream blurred together. Pain came and went, comfort and warmth felt and questioned. It felt wrong, felt like a fantasy or distance memory.

At some point, she dreamed that a bowl of rice made it onto the bed stand, as well as a bottle filled with small white pills, and a note written in elegant handwritten that read, _'Take two and go back to sleep'_. She also dreamed of dark shadows and searing pain and tearing teeth. And of a cruel smile on a face she once trusted. Sometimes she thought heard screaming.

The next time she opened her eyes, both her eyes actually opened fully. For a few moments, sheer panic hit her as she completely forgot where she was. Then she remembered and calmed down...mostly calmed down anyway.

For a while, she simply lay in the soft bed, absorbing the feeling and debated going back to sleep. A re-analyzation of her current situation let her brain fully wake up rather quickly.

She felt great! Well, not great, but loads better than she'd felt in months. The aches and pains that had been a constant thing were faded to the point of almost not being felt. Till she stretched a bit and felt twinges all across her body. But still, compared to before, she felt damn near brand new. As she started to sit up, her ribs yelled at her for moving too fast.

_Okay...still broken...Got it._

Tamara looked around her room again. The candles had burned out, but faint light was coming through the large window. Enough to make out the majority of the room. She was still alone and the door was still closed. She didn't recall much of what had happened after she'd been ordered back to bed by Mihawk, but she noted she was still clinging to the dagger he'd left for her.

As Tamara climb out of bed, there was something new on the chair.

The cloak she briefly remembered tossing over it was gone, but a dress had replaced it. Victorian style with a vee neckline in a pale pink and white color. There was also a folded pile of bandages and a sealed jar of some kind. She'd look at that later. The bottle of pills she thought was a dream was still on the bed stand, though there was no food. But the glass was filled with water again.

Opening the bottle, Tamara popped two and drank every drop before she could talk herself out of it.

Glancing around, she noticed another door in the room for the first time. A grand bathroom was behind it, complete with a large shower.. As she stepped in, movement made her jump. Then feel silly as she'd reacted to her own reflection.

Damn, she looked like hell. Her lip had mostly healed and the bandages looked old. The bruises were fading away, at least. She could see both her cheeks, sunken as they were. Setting the dagger on the marble counter and slipping the shirt off herself, Tamara started the long task of removing all the wrappings on her body. Once the bloody pile of bandages decorated the floor, she looked over herself.

A lot of the minor cuts were mostly healed, with surprisingly little, if no scarring. The deeper ones were heading in the same direction. Except for the bite wound at the base of her neck. It still looked red and angry. As she'd been taking the dressings off, Tamara had noticed a salve that stuck to her fingers. It smelt awful, but apparently healed wounds amazingly. The jar was looking more tempting, she'd have to see if it was the same stuff.

Vanity was the furthest thing from her mind, but it was nice to think that she wouldn't have many physical marks left behind once she was recovered. It might make the memories easier to forget.

Curious, she turned the taps in the shower and was shocked when water started to flow. Now there was something she defiantly wasn't going to turn down. Waiting till the water was hot, she stepped beneath the spray, yelping when the pelting water hit the open wounds. It stung like hell, but Tamara didn't move away. As she watched dirt, blood and debris swirl on the stone floor, her lower lip trembled and she finally let herself break down.

The anguished wail echoed off the bathroom walls and faded away as she fell to her knees, arms hugging herself and sobbed like a child.

She didn't know how long she stayed under the shower spray, how long she let the despair, agony and pain well up and fall out. But she slowly came back to her senses. Her throat was ragged, eyes felt swollen and her nose was running. Sniffing, Tamara stood up. Looking at the back of her hands, turning them over, she pressed her palms to her face and shuddered in a deep breath.

Empty...she felt so empty...and dirty...She'd held back for so long, simply surviving, not letting herself feel. It was almost easier, but she wasn't cold enough or disciplined enough to ignore it forever. She needed to purge, needed to scream and let loose everything. Break herself down into tiny pieces and rebuild from scratch.

Tamara wasn't sure she had enough strength left to do that.

Finally turning off the shower, she stepped out, dripping water. A towel hung from a hook on the wall. She grabbed it and started to dry herself. Calmer now, Tamara recalled everything that had happened as she picked up a silver backed hair brush from the counter and started to detangle her now clean blond tresses.

She was in the home of a god damn Shichibukai. And wasn't dead.

_'Hawkeye'_ Mihawk...the Worlds' Greatest Swordsmen. And that was about where her knowledge ended with her current host/future executioner, depending on how his mood was. As she walked back out into the room _(grabbing the jeweled dagger as she went),_ confirmed with a wrinkled nosed sniff that the jar had the same gel that had been on the bandages and started to redress her deeper wounds, Tamara recalled their previous conversation.

_He promised not to touch me._

Of course, he'd only said he won't touch her with his hands, she didn't think he extended that vow to his sword. But, if he was a man of honor and given his response when she'd questioned it, he was, she might be able to believe he'd actually wouldn't hurt her. He'd had plenty of opportunities, given that she didn't know how long she'd been asleep for. If anything, he was making efforts to help her recover faster.

And despite currently being in the home of one of the most dangerous and powerful men in the world, Tamara hadn't felt safer in a long time. And that was saying something.

The last bandage was placed over the crescent mark on her neck and she paused then, pressing her palm flat against it before shaking her head and reaching for the dress. Whoever had owned it beforehand had much more generous female assets than she did. The chest and hips were quite loose, but there was a sash that she tightened around her waist that pulled some of the loose material in. She tucked the gold dagger into the small of her back once she'd secured the knot.

When Tamara took her first step, her foot caught the skirts edge and she crashed face first into the ground.

Evidently, the previous owner was also four inches taller than her.

After spending a few minutes groaning in place and rubbing her ribcage, she climbed back to her feet. It didn't hurt near as much as she thought it should, Tamara figured the medication was kicking in. Gathering up the silk cloth, she headed downstairs.

* * *

The blade slid over skin with a hiss. It hummed with desire to taste the lifeblood of its victim. Just one drop, that was all it wanted, one simple drop...

A sharp tap on the sink flicked off the short stubble and soap. Setting the razor aside, Mihawk patted his face, pleased by the now smooth skin. He'd been neglecting his grooming for the last few days. Normally he didn't worry much about it, as the isolation of his home meant he could forgo it for a time. But with his temporary guest _(and his pride at keeping his image)_ , a bit more maintenance was needed.

Walking out into his chambers, he glanced at partner _Yoru_. She hung elegantly on the wall, pristine as the day he'd first found her, fully cleaned of any gore from his encounter with the green haired swordsman. Pausing a moment, he rested a hand on the blue gem in the center. _Yoru_ warmed at the touch, vibrating slightly in greeting and pleasure at her masters attention.

"What have you to say about the Little Thing in our home?"

The massive sword hummed again, speaking in a language only a true swordsman could understand. Mihawk chuckled to himself before moving away, using the towel around his neck to wipe away a few stray drops of water that dripped down from his damp hair. It had been quite the ordeal to install the generator that powered the pipes to the castle, but the advantage of always having hot water made it worth it.

As he pulled out one of his standard white silk shirts, a distance keening bay filled with misery and torment flitted upon the air.

His back stiffened for a moment as the agony filled sound stirred unpleasant memories long buried in his mind. It had been a very long time since he'd heard a cry like that. Back when he was much younger and still in contact with Adrian...

Mihawk crushed that thought with a soft snarl and shoved his arms through the sleeves. The girl in the room below had been less trouble than he'd thought. For the most part, she took care of herself. Which was good, seeing as his vow of no contact remained steadfast. Rest and time had been the greatest factor in her recovery, if she continued, she'd likely be fully healed within three weeks.

He could do without the night terrors though. The painful screams she emitted while sleeping made even his famous apathy stir slightly.

Pushing the cuffs up to rest comfortably below his elbow, Mihawk started to tidy his room. He disliked his personal space being in disarray. As he moved about, a gentle tapping at the large window could be heard. The sound became insistent, constant and despite it, he ignored the noise till he'd finished. Finally, he turned and acknowledged the creature irritating him.

The messenger bird was perched on the outer window ledge and almost flew away at the steely glare aimed its way. Only the dedication and payment it had received made it remain in place. Mihawk opened the glass and the feathered animal extended its leg. He removed the rolled parchment, turning away at it flew off.

He regarded the curled letter, turning it to look at the familiar wax seal he hadn't seen in years. It was the third one he'd gotten this year. _He's getting rather desperate._

The thought passed through his mind and was brushed away. Without hesitation, he lifted the paper to the nearest candle, letting the flames catch and burn almost all the way down the paper before tossing the fiery scroll out the window. He closed the pane to block out the smell of smoke.

On the wall, _Yoru_ growled softly. Mihawk looked at her sharply, "Don't start again...I left that all behind long ago."

She went silent without further complaint. It was rare for the two to be in disharmony over anything. This continual rising issue was starting to cause problems between them. Minor problems, but it was still concerning. Mihawk sat in a high back chair and picked up a sealed bottle of wine. Popping the cork, he poured a glass and relaxed back, falling into a meditative state to calm his mind and spirit.

He lost track of time. He might have even fallen asleep for a bit. Not uncommon for him and it was still early on the island. As he purged all thoughts of the messenger bird away, the scent of frying meat tickled his nose, roused his mind to wakefulness and reminded him he hadn't eaten yet.

Now that was something he defiantly needed to investigate. Rising, he drained the glass and set it aside before heading for the door. Behind him, his partner for life vibrated in amusement as the door closed silently.

* * *

This house was absolutely massive.

Tamara had walked through several different rooms and backtracked the same paths again. And she was pretty sure she'd gotten lost a few times. The first place she'd gone was to the room she'd last seen Mihawk in. He wasn't there. She wasn't sure if she was glad about that or not, seeing as the thought of facing the Shichibukai made her heart rate jump several beats.

Eventually, Tamara located a huge dining room with a banquet table and several large chairs. The one at the head of the table was pushed out. A good sign, as dining rooms were generally close to kitchens. And after a bit more exploring, she did find the fabled room.

The cooking area was fully stocked, including a fridge that hummed with power, a pantry loaded with food and cupboards with all necessary utensils. She was less surprised this time when she tested the stove and found the burner ignited with flame at command. There was a French press coffeepot near the sink that looked like it'd been washed. Hunting around a bit, she found a bag of rich scented grounds that was half empty.

Biting her lip as uncertainty hit her, a habit she'd developed as a child that she still couldn't break, she glanced back at the doorway before starting to grab everything she needed. Setting a kettle to boil, she measured out the dark grinds and let the coffee seep for a few minutes. She'd forgotten how much she liked the drink as she poured a mug, adding a splash of cream and a spoonful of sugar to flavor it to her liking.

Taking a sip of the warm beverage happily, she heated a large frying pan and peeled off a few strips of fatty tuna fish bacon. The least she could do after everything Mihawk had done was cook breakfast for him. Maybe if she made a little too much, he might let her have the leftovers. As they cooked, Tamara opened the fridge, eyes scanning for signs of some eggs.

"Making yourself right at home, I see."

Shrieking in response at the deep voice, Tamara jumped backwards. And proceeded to step on the dress's edge again. Overbalanced, she flailed for a moment, loosing her grip on the cartoon she'd grabbed before toppling backwards. Stars danced in front of her eyes for a moment as she groaned in pain,

"Owwwww…."

Above her, the face of Mihawk appeared. She blinked up, still stunned from the fall. He'd somehow caught the carton before it'd hit the ground and was staring down at her, looking smug, regal and absolute terrifying at the same time. Tamara's face heated up in embarrassment, the aching of her body and pounding heart causing temporary insanity as she snapped without thinking,

"Bloody hell, were you re-incarnated as a ghost?! Don't do that!"

Then her brain caught up with her mouth and Tamara was absolutely convinced she was about to die.

Instead, Mihawk chuckled again, the deep rumble that sounded like it came from the very earth as he set the eggs on the counter and moved around her, taking out a mug and pouring himself a cup of the coffee she'd made, "I see you're feeling better. Or are looking for a death sentence. Which is it?"

"Ummm...well I..." Scrambling awkwardly to her feet, she took a few steps away from the Warlord, glancing at the cooking meat on the stove as she folded her hand behind her back, subtly grasping the daggers hilt and meekly replied, "I just thought I'd make you breakfast. As a way to thank you...for everything."

Tamara kept Mihawk in sight through her lashes, not able to bring herself to fully look at him and held her breath in anticipation. He had a newspaper tucked under his arm and took a healthy draw from the cup. Those intimidating golden eyes ran over her, and she shivered. It didn't feel sexual, more like an analytical scan, but having a male look at her in any way...it just creeped her out.

Finally he turned away, walking towards a smaller round table with chairs set up near the window of the kitchen, "Be sure to make enough for yourself. Can't have you becoming more of a Little Thing than you already are."

And that was that. Tamara stared for a moment as the Shichibukai sat down, open the paper, and proceeded to ignore her. Was he making fun of her? Maybe, but she wasn't going to say a damn thing about it. Unclenching her fingers from the blade in her back, she swallowed and turned back to the crisping bacon.

Glancing at Mihawk again, noting that he was a lot taller than she'd first thought, Tamara added five more strips to the pan before grabbing a bowl to scramble the eggs in.

* * *

The scent of cooking food was defiantly appealing. And she made a fine pot of coffee as well. Taking another swallow, Mihawk read up on the latest lie the World Government was spewing out. Nothing of particular note, but he liked to be informed of what was going on. The media was heavily edited by the time the prints got to the public, but it was still the best way to stay up to date on current events.

Studying his houseguest out of the corner of his eye as she flitted about the kitchen, he mentally measured her. He supposed most would consider her attractive enough, child-like as her appearance may be. Long blond hair, blue eyes and skin a shade paler than he'd expected, once the burns had healed. Short though, very much a small girl, barely reaching the middle of his chest.

His taste had always been towards the darker, exotic women with mystery and smoke in their gaze.

Turning back to the paper, Mihawk enjoyed the quiet sounds of the morning. The Navy was up in arms about some theft from one of their research facilities in the North Blue. A rookie pirate they were calling _'The Surgeon of Death'_ had waltzed out with an experimental submarine, leaving chaos as well as a huge loss of berries, and was joyriding around in it. His current bounty was set at $8,000,000.

Without looking up, he extended out his mug as his guest braved stepping closer to him. She filled his cup without a word and backed away. Having her move around and wait on him reminded him of the servants he'd had as a child. He was somewhat surprised that he didn't feel resentment about that, rather it was somewhat comforting and familiar.

A plate filled with food slide onto the table and silverware was set near it. Almost shyly, she placed her hand on the chair across from him and waited. He set aside the paper and waved a hand in a careless gesture before beginning to eat. He had to forcible prevent himself from widening his eyes slightly. It was good, very good in fact. He'd rarely eaten a meal quite as well made outside a high end restaurant.

Mihawk would have eaten the meal even if she'd brunt the food to an unrecognisable crisp, as he was a true seafarer, but it was a very pleasant surprise to have such a flavorful breakfast. He continued to flip through the paper as he ate, feeling the girl glance at him and look away. She kept biting her lip. After the third time she did this, he finally spoke,

"Say what on your mind, Little Thing."

He saw her jump briefly, clearly not expecting him to be the first to speak. Hesitating, she finally responded, "Tamara...my names Tamara. How long have I been asleep?"

"Four days." _Tamara_...He tried to think of what region of the world used that kind of name, then decided he didn't care.

"Oh..."

Silence descended again. Mihawk saw her take a bite from the bacon then frown at her plate. She still had half the food on it, despite the small amount she served for herself. Having finished his meal and pushed the plate aside, he commented blandly, "You should listen to your body. The subtle signals often are often more important than the obvious ones. You'll make yourself ill if your force more on you system then it can handle."

She looked up at him and then down to her plate again, "I won't waste food." His respect for her rose again and he crooked a finger, "Nor will I. Give it here."

The plate slide across the table to him before she rested her chin on her hands, still frowning unhappily, "I should be able to eat that much, its less than I normally have."

Mihawk guessed that before she'd washed up on shore, she hadn't suffered from lack of food. Interesting, but not so much that he wanted to question her on it, "Being force to survive on meager rations shrinks the stomach and forces the body to rely on smaller portions. Make yourself eat a slightly larger amount at each meal, your body will adjust eventually."

She nodded in response and took a sip of her coffee, "Hmm...Guess that makes sense."

He finished the partly eaten meal and pushed the plate aside. Without a word, she rose and gathered the dishes, taking them to the sink and starting to run water to clean up. She filled her cup and offered him a warm up. He accepted.

Again, a near comfortable silence filled the kitchen. Finished with the news, Mihawk contented himself with looking out the window, studying the distance curled hills.

"May I ask you something?"

"If you must."

"Why did you help me? Are helping me?" Mihawk paused in thought, eyes looking to her as she submerged her hands into the soapy water. She flinched slightly and opened her mouth again, "I mean...you don't have to answer if you don't want. I just thought..."

"Don't." She froze, fear jumping into her aura and he heard her breath catch, "Don't backpedal. You didn't do anything wrong."

It was a good question. He was a bit unsure of the answer himself. Looking back out the window, he responded almost flippantly,

"Prepping my own meals is irritating. You seemed skilled at it, you shall continue while you stay here."

She lifted her eyes and stared at him for a while before showing a small amount of the courage that flared from time to time, "You had no idea I was a good cook. For all you know, I could've brunt your kitchen down."

Mihawk hid a smirk behind the mug as he took a sip of the coffee. Spirited indeed, at least when she got a bit more comfortable. He figured she was a bit more convinced he wasn't going to kill her, seeing as she was risking snipping back at him, but she was still edgy. Though it was hard to tell if that was because of who he was or what he was.

"True enough, but you will continue regardless."

She nodded back. He was pleased with that, at least he'd have some well made meals while she invaded his space. But she was still looking at him, waiting for an answer. After a few minutes in thought he finally spoke honestly,

"I prefer solitude. It's why I chose this island as my home. However, it can get rather listless and dull after a while. So from time to time, a bit of a change is in order. You just happen to stumble in while I was in one of those moments, rare and fleeting as they are."

Sapphire blinked owlishly, "You saved me from killer monkeys, treated my wounds, gave me clothes, a weapon, food and medicine and are currently letting me stay under your roof...on a whim?"

An apt enough explanation. He gave a slight shrug that might be translated as a _'yes'_ and she hummed a response he was sure she didn't mean for him to hear and made him fight down another chuckle,

"I like the first reason better..."


	4. First Contact

As the days passed, a semi regular routine developed between them.

Comfortable wasn't a word she would use to describe her current situation, but it was the closest she could put into words. Tamara was now convinced Mihawk wasn't going to randomly slice her throat. Especially since he'd been true to his word. He went out of his way on some occasions not to make physical contact with her, including the one incident where he'd actually dodged to the side when she'd stumbled while walking and almost fell on him.

She'd gotten a mild scolding and a mocking smirk tossed at her for that. Shortly after, Tamara had hacked off the excessive cloth from her dress till her ankles were visible to avoid that problem again.

With the dark skies of Kuraigana making it extremely difficult to tell the time, Tamara had to rely on the few spaced out antique clocks in the castle. Not the most reliable source, so for the most part, she made her own schedule. Mornings consisted of a quick shower to clean her healing wounds, rebandaging of those that needed it and heading to the kitchen.

Tamara had quickly learned the fastest way to find Mihawk was to start cooking.

It didn't seem to matter what time she started or what she was making, somehow the man could tell when she was preparing a meal and miraculously appeared. Often times scaring the hell out of her in the process.

He seemed to take great delight in making her jump. She was partly convinced he did it just to get a rise from her.

The castle was even larger than she'd originally thought. The first few days of her stay were dedicated to pure exploration, as with only two people in the house it fell to one's own self to find entertainment. Tamara could tell that Mihawk only used a few of the rooms, as most were coated in layers of dust and lost to time. But she still wanted to look around and know where things were.

She'd come across three rooms she knew instantly she was **not** allowed to enter without permission.

The obvious first one was the Shichibukai personal chambers. Tamara had curiously opened what she thought was a random door, like the half dozen she'd opened before, briefly seen a massive four poster bed with scarlet curtains and an oversized gleaming curved black blade resting on the wall. She'd promptly slammed the door shut and ran full speed down the stairs, hoping to all the deities she could name that Mihawk didn't notice her intrusion.

Nothing had been said at dinner, and Tamara hadn't gone near that door since.

The other room was a large office space with a desk and a Den Den Snail set up, as well as filing cabinets and shelving units. Tamara guess that was were her host did most of his Shichibukai work for the Navy and Government. It didn't look well used, but she avoided it nonetheless.

She didn't actually know what was in the last room, as it was the only door in the whole castle that was locked, and was deep in the lower levels, near the dungeons that totally freaked her out with horrible memories. Tamara didn't ask about that door and didn't want to know what was behind it.

Throughout the day, the two didn't usually interact. Sometimes she'd stumble upon him reading in the library or napping on a sofa _(of which she would promptly back out the room as quietly as possible)_ , but during meals or in the evenings, Mihawk sometimes stayed around and talked to her or waved her to follow him to the lounge area. As of yet, he still hadn't call her by her name or asked her to tell him what had happened to her, but he did hold conversations with her.

And there in lay a new discovery about the Warlord. He actually seemed to have moments where he enjoyed being around her. Though with his constant serious expression, it was damn near impossible to read his moods.

Mihawk was a seasoned and travelled man. You didn't become a Privateer of the World Government by staying in one place. He'd sometimes reminisce about some of his past adventures while she listen spellbound and captivated by the tales. Other times she'd tell him about a new room she'd found, or ask his opinion on a book she was reading. And perhaps the biggest indicator that the swordsman didn't completely resent her presence in his home was when he willing shared his prized wine with her.

That had been a very interesting afternoon. Tamara had been prepping the evening meal early, wanting to add extra tenderness to the meat and gone actively hunting for Mihawk. Luck had been with her and she'd found him lounging in the drawing room. She'd politely asked if he had any wine that she was allowed to cook with. He'd stood from his chair, led her to the large chilly cellar and massive collection of bottles, and asked what flavors she wanted.

She'd confessed to knowing nothing about wine, simply stating that her Mother had taught her that it made a good solution to marinate meat in.

Thus began a long conversation where she'd learned about the growth, harvesting, fermenting, casting and bottling of the liquid Mihawk so loved. It had been a fascinating experience, especially since he'd almost encouraged her inquisitive questions, showing her different sections of the cellar, explaining various vintages, flavors, textures and numerus other things with more than a slight hint of pride at his astronomically expensive collection.

She'd gotten light headed when he'd off-handily commented that the bottle she was looking at was worth $2,000,000 berries.

By the time they'd finished talking, there hadn't been enough time to marinate the Sea King roast and it was postponed for the following nights dinner. But over the thick horned-shark steaks she'd seasoned in its place, Tamara had looked up in surprise when the yellow eyed man had set a crystal wine glass in front of her and poured a portion of his current bottle into it. He'd followed it with a brief, almost order of telling him what she'd learned.

Since then, Mihawk would occasionally offer her a glass at dinner.

All in all, she was starting to feel almost...well...comfortable in the ghostly castle on the isolated island. And it was a very painful knowing this current serene sensation was going to end soon.

Sighing to herself as she sat back, resting the book she'd been reading in her lap, Tamara tried to push away the negative thought. But it persisted. The dress was fitting better now. The hips were a bit more snug, as she'd gained weight from days of consuming good food and resting well. Bruises had faded to near nothingness, her ribs were only slightly tender now.

And with her healing status came the uncomfortable knowledge that her stay with the Shichibukai was coming to a close.

Tamara habitually bit her lip. She'd come to almost feel safe around the famed man. _Almost_ being the key word as Mihawk, for all his gentlemanly actions, was still dangerous as hell. He was always courteous, if not demining, and she'd hadn't felt truly threatened by him in a long while.

He could still make her tremble if he looked at her a little too hard though. The simple fact that he was a man dredged up dark emotions she was trying to deal with, but it had nothing to do with how he personally treated her. Letting her head fall back against the chaise lounge she reclined on, Tamara stared up at the high libray ceiling and muttered softly,

"I don't want to leave..."

The whisper was lost in the empty room. She blinked back moisture from her eyes and picked up the book again. Movement caught her eye and she turned to see what it was. Blinking in surprise and standing up, Tamara moved closer to the glass as she saw Mihawk walking outside. He wore his standard white shirt and dark pants, but also had on what looked like the cloak he'd let her borrow when she'd first come.

Displayed proudly on his back was the massive Black Sword he was so famous for.

Tamara held her breath, stepping to the side and partly hiding behind the curtains. He moved out into the large courtyard and paused, seeming to think over something before unsheathing his blade. It was huge, bigger than him in fact, and he wielded the weapon with such ease and grace. As she stared, Mihawk's stance shifted and he started to move.

The actions were beautiful...absolutely awe-inspiriting. Man and blade flowed together as one, movements smooth and in perfect harmony. Then the steps changed, getting quicker and faster, violence and deadly intent filling each move. Flawless elegance combined with savage bloodlust, a dance of life and death the likes of which poets and preachers could only dream of.

And she couldn't have looked away if someone was holding a knife to her throat.

* * *

She was less intrusive than he'd originally thought she'd be.

He still didn't know if he liked having the Little Thing around, but she'd made things a bit more lively. Honestly, he'd thought by now she'd have annoyed him to the point that he'd have frighten her into enclosing herself in her room till she was healed. But she fit herself into his home surprisingly well. He didn't remember the last time the castle was this clean. Actually, it probably hadn't been so tidy since the original occupants lived in it.

Mihawk had been resting happily in one of his preferred napping spots when he'd been woken by the scent of lemon and vinegar. Thinking that his guest was cooking something again, he'd followed his nose to find Tamara standing on a chair and cursing at the large diamond chandelier in the dining room while swatting a damp cloth at it, stating that it was going to be cleaned whether it wanted to or not.

She'd almost fallen off the chair when he'd told her there was a ladder in the storeroom closet.

It was amusing to him to see the sparks flare in her eyes when he startled her, but he did deliberately walk a bit more noisily sometimes when he headed towards a room she was in. When he felt like it.

Swinging Yoru in a downward sweep designed to cleave an opponent in two, he let his mind roam as his body walked through the Katas with a practised ease.

The rich food was highly enjoyable. While he was fully capable of making his own meals, lack of interest in the task, as well as his own laziness, meant most of the time, he tended to dine on preserved or quick fix food. Having the consistence, well-made nutrients was spoiling him slightly, causing the barest layer of poundage to be noted in the mirror this morning. Hence why he'd chosen to run through a few maneuvers to work off the excess flesh.

The fact that he had a captive audience didn't hurt either. He was still a prideful man and did enjoy flaunting a bit. Plus, Yoru was singing in delight at being used, even if it was only in practice.

She liked to listen when he talked. Mihawk could get anyone to listen to him if he wanted. All it too was a hand on Yoru's hilt and a steely gaze and anyone would hang on each word he spoke with rapt attention. But he didn't need to with Tamara. She actively paid attention and interacted when he felt like speaking without any form of cohesion. Then there were the times when she sensed that silence was needed and moved quieter around him or left him alone all together.

He wasn't if she'd learned to partial read him, or if she was simply follow her instincts, but whichever it was, it was gratifying that he didn't need to constantly tell her when his social tolerance was reached. Shanks could take a few lessons from her.

Though the interactions they'd had, he'd learned more about her than perhaps she'd been willing, or aware, to share. Tamara had told him that is was her Mother that had taught her to cook. When she spoke of her female parent, it was in the past tense. Currently, she'd yet to say anything about her Father or any other family member. During some of the conversations they'd had, he'd come to think she was from the South Blue, as her eyes lit up in recognition when he talked of his travels to that ocean.

Finishing with a long distance slash that split a chunk of rock taller than him in two, Mihawk exhaled slowly, pleased by the slight exertion he felt, and straightened, re-sheathing Yoru on his back. He ignored the blue eyes watching him from the upper window, looking out instead into the distance forest. The Humandrill leader mimicked him, sliding the replica sword into place before fading into the trees.

Turning away, he walked around the house, mostly in boredom. The girl was nearly recovered now. And with that he was ready to send her on her way, wherever that might be and return to his isolation. Mihawk ignored the slight clenching in his chest at the thought and continued on his path.

* * *

_The clippers snipped the thick stem at 45 degree angle. A dollop of glue sealed the wound and the yellow rose joined the rest in the basket. Gathering the woven container, she walked towards the cheerful, white plaster house. Opening the door she called out,_

_"Papa? I cut the flowers you asked for, where do you want them?"_

_A strange scent was in the air, disrupting the sweet fragrance of the blossoms beside her,_  
_"Papa?"_

_Red...there was red on the wall...red on the floor..._

_"PAPA!"_

_Cold surrounded, cloth torn away, metal pressed against her skin...And that face...she'd trusted him...and he laughed cruelly as other hands groped at her, mocking her as she struggled in futile panic...nails torn skin...fingers squeezed harshly...multiple male voices chortled and jeered around her..._

_"Pretty little girly..."_

_"So soft...lets make her scream..."_

_"Can I have her mouth?..."_

_"Do what you want...except this...only I am allowed this...hold her still..."_

_She recognised the last voice and her blood ran cold...the chill of the floor pressed against her front...callused hands gripped her hips...then the pain...the agony of alien intrusion as his voice faded in her ear..._

_"...blood...pure..."_

* * *

The deafening sound of screaming woke her up. It took a few seconds to realise it was her own voice she heard. Struggling wildly out of the blankets tangled around her, Tamara forcibly clamped her hands over her mouth to muffled the whimpers, rocking back and forth in her bed.

_A dream...just a dream...it was just a dream...I'm not there anymore...I got away..._

Tamara repeated this mantra over and over. She was shaking and there was a layer of sweat on her skin. Gasping jaggedly, she torn off the male scented shirt she wore as a nightgown, unable to handle it and stumbled to the shower, turning the water on so hot it almost scalded her. Finally, her panting started to slow and she could think again. Tamara stood from her knees and turned the water down to a more reasonable temperature.

Finishing the shower, she stepped out. Steam filled the room and fogged up the mirror. Brushing a hand over the reflective surface, she looked at herself. There was only one bandage left...the one on her right shoulder. Fingernails picked at the sticky edges and peeled it away, reveling a lighter white, crescent mark against her skin.

Fully healed at last.

For a few moments, Tamara debated covering the mark again. But it would do no good, Mihawk was far to observant to be fooled by a false bandage. And he'd said she could stay till she was better. And now she was. Which meant...she was going to be leaving. That was probably why her nightmares were coming back after days of not having any. Tears filled her eyes and fell to the counter. She rubbed at her face, struggling to hold back the sobs.

Taking in a deep breath, she took a bit to dry herself off and get dressed before heading downstairs to cook breakfast. Regardless of her personal demons, she still had a Warlord to feed.

Mihawk arrived near the middle of prepping the meal. Tamara heard the clacking of heels on the stone floor announcing his arrival and poured a cup of coffee. She'd murmured a soft greeting that wasn't returned and turned back to the stove. Breakfast had passed in quiet silence, neither party wanting to talk. Part of her was on edge the whole time, waiting for him to spring the moment. It didn't come and he left without a word.

She'd passed the day by polishing the silver tea set she liked to use and browsing the library for a new book to read.

Being careful not to splash the boiling water on her skin, Tamara tipped the sliced potatoes into the pot. They'd need some time to soften. Checking on the low simmering salmon fillets, Tamara added some extra cilantro. Mihawk liked more heat to his food than her, she'd make her portion afterwards. Satisfied nothing was going to burn or boil over, she grabbed plates and eating utensils, swiped a damn cloth over the dusty bottle and headed into the dining room to set the table.

It came as no surprise that Mihawk was already sitting at the head with a glass of wine already half gone. Golden eyes looked up at her as she entered and Tamara fought down a shiver, "Good evening, Mihawk-san."

"Hnn..." That sound was a common response from him. He picked up the bottle she set down near him, inspecting it for a moment, "Interesting choice."

"Is it?" A slight incline in his head that most wouldn't consider a nod,

" _Phylloxera_ , a vintage from the East Blue. The island of Meriling has rich soil, but suffers frequent storms, making the growth of the vines sparse and unpredictable. Those times that the vineyards manage to grow a proper harvest is worth the wait. The grapes are quite tart and are fermented with blackberries to soften it. It meshes very well, difficult as it is to make."

She'd gotten into a habit of picking a bottle at random to offer the Shichibukai at dinner. Sometimes he opened it, other times he set it aside, depending on his mood at the time. Always he gave a small story about the vintage she picked, expanding her knowledge more. That was the main reason she did it.

Mihawk filled his glass and moved the empty bottle to her side of the table as she finished setting out the plates. Tamara gabbed it as she headed back to the kitchen.

When she came back out, arms loaded with platers of food, a filled crystal glass was by her plate. Mihawk rose once she finished setting out the platters and pulled out her chair. The first time he'd done this, Tamara had partially frozen. Now she took the seat without hesitation. After they'd both filled their plates, she took the first sip of the wine.

"Oh...its delightful. I think I taste honey." Humming to herself, she studied the glass.

"Very good. The vintners of Meriling cast _Phylloxera_ in timmon barrels, which gives subtle textures of sweetness."

Smiling down at her plate at the compliment, Tamara broke off a piece of the moist meat and swallowed before commenting, "Does Kuraigana get many storms like Meriling?"

"Not to the same degree. During the late fall, it can rain for days on end, but there's no risk of an Aqua Laguna."

"What's that?"

The evening passed by with pleasant conversation between them. Tamara almost relaxed at the familiar atmosphere. As she gathered the last of the dishes, Mihawk stood with both glasses in one hand and spoke over his shoulder as he walked away, "Join me in the lounge when you're finished, Little Thing."

"Yes, Mihawk-san. I'll be along shortly."

Night had fallen and the candles in the castle had been mostly extinguished. From the doorway, the glow of a green colored fire flickered. She took in a deep breath and entered, padding quietly over to the armchair angled towards the hearth. Sitting, she tucked her legs up under her to keep her bare feet warm. It was also the most comfortable position for her. Her glass was refilled and sitting on the low table.

"How exactly is it that women can bend in such ways? One would think you have no bones."

She muffled a giggle at the statement behind her hand. Sometimes thought Mihawk might have a sense of humor, but it was next to impossible to tell. He might be dead serious. Actually, he probably was. Tamara settled back against the cushioned seat,

"Maybe we don't, I knew a girl that could bend her wrist backwards. She ended up joining a travelling circus-boat, I think. Might have been a pirate ship, I can't remember completely."

Mihawk took a drink from his glass, "Hmmm...Part of Buggy's crew perhaps?"

Tamara tilted her head to the side curiously, mimicking the Warlord and picking up her glass, "Possibly….Then again, I don't know who that is."

"I wasn't expecting you to."

She shifted and leaned towards Mihawk as he spoke about the Clown Pirate of the East Blue and his strange ideals. When he'd spoke of the Bara Bara no Mi, she risked interrupting the story, "He can't be cut?"

"Correct...though he's easy enough to defeat. For all his showmanship, he is horrendously weak."

Tamara gave a light laugh, finishing her wine and setting the glass aside, relaxing back in the comfy chair. Mihawk opened a new bottle, but didn't offer her any from it. Sipping the new vintage, his next words stuttered her calm state to a halt,

"Your wounds have healed, I see."

Tamara's heart dropped and she pulled her knees closer, "Yes..."

Silence fell between them. She stared into the fire and waited. After a few minutes, he finally responded, "I have business to attend to at one of the nearby islands. You'll accompany me."

She felt her throat dry up. It had been expected, she'd been trying to prepare herself for this moment. This wasn't her home, she was just a guest. And she had to leave, had to learn to live on her own again. Taking in a breath, pulling what courage she could, Tamara heard her voice speak against her will,

"Of course." He tilted his head, eyes angling towards her as though expecting her to say something else. She didn't.

"Be ready to leave by first light."

"I will be...By your leave, Mihawk-san?" The elder male inclined his head and she rose from the chair, amazed her shaking legs managed to carry her to her room. She prayed her nightmares stayed at bay tonight.

* * *

The smell of smoke and blood lingered on the coat. It was a symbol of his status, his skill, the fight and sacrifice he'd done to achieve his place in the world. To him, it was victory. On the wall, _Yoru_ hummed in agreement, excited about leaving and the possibility of combat.

Tucking his pants into his boots and securing the buckles, Mihawk stood. Glancing at the floor, he saw a warm, gold glow through the stone barrier. She was awake and already waiting for him in the entryway. He wondered briefly if she'd even slept, he heard no screaming during the night. Ignoring the passing thought, he started to reach for the wide brimmed plumed hat and paused.

Frowning briefly before schooling his face, Mihawk stepped over to a rarely used foot locker. Opening the chest, he rummaged through the contents and pulled out a pair of worn black boots still dusted with dirt. Turning them around, he tried to remember why he'd kept a set of footwear too small for him. Then his memories stirred and he recalled.

_Loguetown...I wore these at Rogers execution._ It felt almost like a lifetime ago, standing in the rain and watching the blades fall. Shaking off the thought, he closed the lid, sealing away the past once more. Slipping on his hat, he sheathed Yoru at his back and walked out of the room. As he reached the top of the stairs and looked down at Tamara, he saw her eyes widen and fear slipped into her aura. Fear of him.

Mihawk didn't allow himself to be affected by that.

Descending the stairs, he dropped the shoes near her, causing her to jump and look at them, "I don't intend to carry you. Be quick, the tide will be out soon."

"Yes, Mihawk-san." He opened the double doors with one hand as she awkwardly slipped the boots on her feet. They were still far too large, but it would be sufficient enough a barrier to get her to the docks.

He was forced to slow his pace a lot so she could keep up. The, heavy undergrowth, oversized shoes and her natraully smaller gait had her stumbling a lot, but she didn't fall. Surprising, given she was somewhat accident prone. Frowning minutely again, he wondered briefly when he'd come to know that about her. A few times he paused to hold a low hanging branch out of the way.

Partway through the walk, he was forced to stop and turn back towards her when her steps ceased. She was staring wide eye at the distance pack of Humandrills that had been following them. Blue eyes looked at him quickly,

"They...won't do anything...right?"

"They won't dare, come along." She quickly trotted over, almost falling on her face. He tried not to smirk in amusement.

Finally, the dense forest thinned and the sand of the beach crunched under his feet. At this point, he fell back to his normal pace and Tamara was quickly left behind. Though he made sure to keep her within earshot as he stepped onto the dock. His Coffin Boat floated in the water, in the same place he'd left it. But for this journey, he would need more space than the one man craft.

On the other side was a much larger vessel, one with a covered center and a single mast sail. It was secured with two mooring lines and Mihawk nimbly stepped onto the deck. He started prepping the ship for sail and heard the Little Thing make it to the dock. She stopped and kicked off the too large boots, grabbing them as she quickly jogged to the end. For a few moments, she looked at the gap between the ships prow and the wooden platform.

Sensing that she was about to do something stupid that might cause injury, Mihawk yanked on the rope. The gap vanished and he planted a boot on the ships edge to stabilize the rocking craft, lifting a hand upwards in offer to Tamara. She jolted and stared at him, eyes sliding to the open palm and teeth pressing on her lip. He waited.

After a minute, she slowly raised her arm. Her fingertips trembled, but she reached forward and slid her palm against his. Her hand was slightly callused, but still soft. Carefully, he closed his hand, not applying too much pressure and supported her as she jumped down onto the deck. She pulled away a bit too quickly, stepping back a bit.

As he turned to loosen the mooring lines, he heard her murmur lowly, "Thank you...Mihawk-san."

The clenching in his chest came again. He brushed it aside and shoved away from the dock. The sail unfurled and the ocean grasped the ship, pulled them out into the Grand Line.


	5. Bittersweet Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever wonder why Mihawk allowed Zoro and Perona to stay on the island, even though he obviously preferred to be alone? It was because they weren't the first unexpected visitors to share his home. A girl, before any of them, washed up on shore, a near broken shell, and through some miracle on high, somehow managed to gain favor with the Worlds' Greatest Swordsman.

"What kind of a name is Redemption Island?"

She didn't bother trying to cover the skeptical tone of her voice. Sitting on top of a wooden crate, Tamara leaned her elbows back on the ships edge and kicked her bare feet carelessly, tilting her head back to absorb more of the suns rays while staring over the ships bow. The skies above were a crisp, Amarillo blue with fluffy white clouds and the wind carried the sound of sloshing waves that was almost peaceful.

"A sanctioned one, the island was once known for its rather...colorful business dealings. When the elected leaders voted for the lands to join the ranks of the World Government, it was required for the countries name to be change. To better fit into the idealism of their new partnership."

Mihawk's tone of voice could have frozen the ocean itself. Tamara didn't look over at him, knowing his ire wasn't directed at her (thankfully), but she still shifted uncomfortably. From her talks with him, she knew he cared little about the ruling force of the seas and their goals. It made her wonder why he'd accepted the position of Shichibukai, but she had yet to summon the courage to ask him that.

Currently, he was standing at the small helm of the ship, steering the vessel with one hand and occasionally shifting his gaze around, looking for signs of trouble on the ocean she couldn't begin to understand.

"So did the people on the island clean up their acts? There's no more dirty dealings going on?"

A tsk sound came from the Warlord, "Shadows and secrets linger in every society, no matter how they try to appear. But yes, for the most part, its considered a relatively safe harbor."

Sensing that Mihawk was in one of his rare, chatty moods, Tamara kept talking, "I suppose it doesn't hurt that the landmass gets you as a visitor from time to time."

"Hnn…I don't offer any protection to them."

"I know, but just the fact that your home is nearby would deter some activity, I imagine."

"Or increase it, depending on what you refer to." She turned her eyes back to him, brows furrowing a bit, "Huh?"

"Kuraigana Island is difficult to find and harder to traverse inland, due to the Humandrills. Those seeking my head often have to wait till I chose to leave in order procure a challenge, feeble as they might be."

That made sense, god knew she hadn't meant to stumble upon the gloomy shores. But now that she was away from it, back in the sunshine and non blood scented air, Tamara found herself longing to be back on the misty isle. There was a certain charm and peacefulness she'd grown accustomed too during her stay there. Swallowing down the feeling of nostalgia, she flashed a small smile at the Warlord,

"I imagine its irritating when that happens."

"Quite, though my status as a Shichibukai generally ensures that only stronger opponents step forward."

Well, that answered one question she'd been thinking about.

They'd been sailing on the open water for four days now. Tamara hadn't spent this much time in close proximity to Mihawk since her arrival and knowing that he like to be alone, she'd made sure to slip inside the covered storage area frequently. The ship was so small that they could easily carry a normal conversation on deck no matter where either party stood. The inside area was mostly empty barrels, crates and food stores, with a low collapsible cot in one corner.

That had been where she was when Mihawk had knocked on the door and ordered her out, stating they were going to be arriving soon. Now she was scanning the horizon, looking for signs of the island. Survival instinct told her to get information on the place that would be her new home, so she'd breeched the subject with the swordsman, much as she really didn't want to.

"So what's the main source of business that Redemption Island promotes now?"

"Exports mostly. They're quite famous for the coffee and tea plants grown on the inland farms." She perked up at that news. A farming community, she might be able to fit into a place like that, "You get your coffee from here?"

"Among other things."

Tamara opened her mouth to ask more questions and cut off the words when Mihawk moved towards the mast, fiddling with the rigging and starting to furl the sail. Turning back to look out at the open ocean, she saw a dark form starting to get larger on the horizon. The island looked to be mostly flatland with a few rolling hills further inland. It looked to be fairly small, but it was hard to tell at this distance.

Nervous energy and trepidation started to stir in her stomach. Shifting forward, she slid her hand to the small of her back and felt the jeweled dagger resting snugly against her spine. It had become a security blanket for her, she never went anywhere without it. Mihawk hadn't asked for it back and Tamara couldn't bring herself to return it.

Confident it wasn't slipping, she stood up. The rocking of the boat made her wobble and grip the edge of the ship. Sea legs was something she defiantly didn't possess. Then again, Tamara had never intended to travel on the ocean. Wooden buildings, streets and moving people started to come into view. There were other vessels nearby and with Mihawk walking around on deck, doing whatever was necessary to prep for docking, she heard startled and terrified sounds from the ships before they steered away.

It was ironic that she found that amusing, considering a few weeks ago she'd reacted the same way.

As the ship smoothly moved alongside a long dock, several people scrambled around. All of them gave a deep, respectable bow. Most stayed that way. Mihawk ignored them and tossed ropes to the attendances to secure. Once the boat was pressed against the wooden platform, he stepped off.

Waiting till he'd moved aside, Tamara lifted the edge of her skirt and prepared to follow. Long, slightly tanned digits came into her vision. Looking up, she saw Mihawk once more extending a hand down to her.

Swallowing, she slid her fingers against his palm. His skin was warm and his grip strong, though still loose enough she could pull away if she chose to. It should have terrified her, being touched by him. Instead, there was a sense of comfort and security. Tamara stepped onto the dock and he released her hand before she could pull away. Spinning on the balls of his feet, he briskly walked towards the end.

Pausing as she tried to calm her racing heart, Tamara jolted suddenly and ran to catch up, falling in a step behind him.

* * *

An elder man with grey hair waited at the end of the dock. Two young men flanked him. All were bowed so low they were almost doubled over. Mihawk paused before the trio. Hisao was the towns mayor and on his rare stops to the island, it was always this man who greeted him Which suited him well, as it meant many of the menial errands were done without needing him attention.

The small senior man rose slightly, "Welcome back, Shichibukai Hawkeye-sama. Ariedale City is once more honored by your visit. How may our humble town serve you today?"

Mihawk ignored the simpering, speaking briskly, "The normal supplies will suffice." He reached into his coat and held out a folded piece of parchment to the elected leader, "Add these items to the hold as well. I will remain for a single day. No more."

"Of course, Shichibuki Hawkeye-sama. A room at the Emerald Shore has already been arranged. Should any other trivial tasks be needed, we are at your service. Please enjoy your stay, Shichibukai Hawkeye-sama." Hisao handed the paper to the boy on his left. Without a word, the young lad backed away and turned, quickly running down the street.

Mihawk passed by the group without pause, confident his orders would be carried out to the letter. The streets were less crowed by the docks, his arrival to the city usually resulted in many people fleeing inside to avoid the risk of angering him. Hearing bare feet slap on the ground behind his right shoulder reminded him that he wasn't alone. She'd left his boots behind on the ship. Which was fine, the paved streets of Ariedale wouldn't cut her feet, though she might step on a few rocks.

The curious sensation in his chest was passed off as annoyance.

Reaching the open marketplace, which was still quite busy, Mihawk paused and looked around. Conversation and activity paused for a minute, then carried on again in an almost hushed atmosphere. Turning, he looked down at the girl standing an arms length away. She was glancing around nervously, but with interest and her arms were folded primly in her lap. Sensing his attention, her head inclined to meet his eyes. It occurred to him that she was one of the few people that could hold his gaze for any length of time.

He brushed aside the thought that he was pleased about that.

Reaching into his coat once more, Mihawk pulled out a black leather billfold and held it out to her. Blue eyes shifted and looked at the item, blinking in a bit of confusion. After a few moments, he grew irritated and opened his mouth to order her to take it. She beat him to it,

"No."

"Pardon?" His eyes narrowed slightly at the defiant tone and she flinched but didn't back away as he'd been expecting, "I said no. I don't need it. I don't want it. You've done enough for me already. So...no."

Gold eyes stared at her for a moment, secretly both impressed and annoyed by her bravado, "You have nothing, Little Thing. Consider it payment for your services at the castle if you wish."

"I have my life, Mihawk-san. My life and my will to live it. So long as I have that, I don't need anything else." Before he could snarl back a response, she took a step back and bowed to him before straightening. A beaming smile that made her close her eyes lit her face,

"Thank you for everything. Take care of yourself, Mihawk-san."

And with those parting words, the blond girl that had literally fallen into his life, turned and calmly walked away. He stared at her back as she dodged a group of shoppers and disappeared around a corner.

On his back, _Yoru_ vibrated hard. Mihawk felt his weight shift forward slightly, almost in preparation to take a step after her. Then he stopped himself and tucked the wallet back into his coat, still reeling a bit from the conversation. Her words hit him hard. This girl...this women who's lost everything, suffered horrors beyond reason, had been swept unwilling from her home, and all she was concerned with was his health and wellbeing.

She reminded him of Shanks. Of the red haired buffoon, with his unending enthusiasm and ever positive outlook, always moving forward no matter what happened. So jaded had he become from his experiences in the world, he'd nearly forgotten the simple joy in just living, just being alive.

Mihawk forced himself to turn and continue to his destination. A rare flower like her needed sun and freedom, staying near his darkness would only stunt her growth. He ignored the protest of his partner and pushed aside the coiling in his chest.

For some reason he couldn't identify, it felt wrong that she'd been the one to walk away first.

* * *

Once she was confident she'd walked far enough away that Mihawk couldn't see her, Tamara stopped and let herself fall back against a nearby building, sinking down to the ground.

That had been even harder than she'd imagined.

It had taken everything she'd had to not bite her lip and give away her true feelings. She'd been terrified at the thought of leaving his side, being alone again. But it was what he wanted, it was why he'd brought her here. And it was beyond selfish of her to refuse his wishes after all he'd done for her. Sniffling, Tamara brushed her hands over her eyes, wiping away the tears and saw her wriggling bare toes through the watery vision. Shoes...the first thing she needed was shoes.

"Miss...are you alright?"

A new voice made her jump and Tamara looked up at a young, dark haired man that was staring at her in concerns. He started to reach forward to touch her, possibly to help her up and his words of comfort were lost as panic hit her.

"Don't! Don't touch me! Stay away!" Scrambling back, she struggled to her feet, hand whipping to the dagger in her back as the man's eyes flew open wide and he backed away,

"Miss? It's alright, I was only trying to help. Are you alright? Is something wrong?"

Breathing heavily and feeling her fingers start to go numb from her grip on the hilt, she slid against the wall, backing into the alley. She heard her voice quiver, but managed to response, "I-I'm fine...thank you...I'll be alright."

Tamara turned and fled from the man, from the crowded street and into the darkened aisle. It was quieter here and that calmed her. Anxiety raced under her skin as she breathed in deeply. She'd overreacted, let herself get worked up. Not all men were evil, Mihawk was a good example. And she'd know lots of nice men on the Sagiune Peninsula. Thinking of her home island brought a fresh wave of tears to her eyes as she tried to focus on not stepping on anything sharp.

Then there was the matter of whether she should try to get even for what had happened to her Father.

Shivering, Tamara stopped and pushed that thought from her mind. Vengeance wasn't in her blood, she didn't have what it took to seek revenge. She'd cry, mourn and rebuild, but trying to satisfy with more bloodshed. That was something she knew she couldn't do. Never mind the fact that she had no idea where to even start looking.

Sighing deeply, she moved to the next corner. Pausing, she heard the sound of jeering voices around the bend, and a horrid, shrieking noise of something else that made her shudder.

"Make sure you skin it! I want a piece!"

"It's still alive, dumbass! We'll get blood everywhere!"

"Who cares, it just a stupid animal!"

Looking around the corner, Tamara saw three small figures crouched on the ground and a bigger man standing and watching passively. One of the young boys raised an empty glass bottle and started to swing it downward. Tamara reacted without thinking once she realised what was happening. She sprang forward pasted the older male, who jump aside in surprise.

"What the hell are you doing, you little brats! Stop it!"

Tamara's hand grabbed the bottle and shoved aside the group of children, lashing out with a leg to kick one in the stomach. None of the three could be older than 12 or 13 years. On the ground by their feet was a black cat, mutilated and bleeding out, but still alive, crying in pain. Startled cries sounded at the youths were bowled over and knocked back.

"Hey!"

"Whoa! Oww!"

"Who's this Ripley? Is this part of the test too?"

The boys backed away towards the older male. She tore her eyes away from the dying animal, tossing the bottle aside and glared up at the group, rage at seeing something so familiar happen in front of her robbing her of her normal sense of preservation.

"You're interfering in business of the Red Serpants, Ona. That's not a wise thing to do. Leave...this initiation isn't finished yet."

The one the kids had called Ripley spoke calmly, and with some measure of authority. But the fact that he was probably only 17 years old and Tamara's rising anger pushed her past whatever threat he might process.

"Initiation! Torturing a defenseless creature is some kind of sick hazing trial for your demented little boy club! And you make children do it! What are trying to do, raise a brood of serial killers!? Or maybe you can't handle anything tougher than a cat, you psychotic bastard!"

Ripley stepped forward menacingly, fists clenched at his side, "You should watch your mouth, Ona. Or someone might have to shut it for you."

On someone who hadn't spent the last several weeks around a cold-eyed, ghost-walking, fire-color-changing, deadly-as-all-hell swordsman, the move may have succeeded in making her back away. But it didn't and Tamara saw the teens arm tense. Past experience told her he was about to swing a fist. He did, an over the shoulder backhand designed to strike her across the cheek. Tamara ducked under the blow, hand already at her spine.

Without a thought, she unsheathed the dagger and sliced upwards. A howl lit the air and an arc of red sprayed on the wall. Blood dripped from the end of the blade and she glared down at Ripley with fire in her eyes. He clutched the left side of his face while curled into a ball and screaming in agony and disbelief,

"My face! You bitch! You cut my face!"

A trio of terrified screams came from the younger boys as they promptly fled, yelling in panic at seeing their so called leader fall to a slip of a girl. She ignored them, maybe they'd learn a thing or two. Planting a bare foot on the bleeding man's shoulder, she forcibly rolled him to his back. He glared at her between his fingers, pain and fear mixing with black hate and rage.

"You don't know what you've done, you stupid cow! Do you know who I am, who I work for!"

She snarled low and held the blade stained with his blood in front of her, "I don't give damn who you are. Your a fucking coward and a twisted man. I should do to you what you made those kids do to that poor cat. Now get the hell out of here before I cut off something you'll miss a lot more than your ugly face!"

Even bleeding as he was, she still saw his face pale. A coward indeed, he made her sick. Tamara watched as he clumsily scrambled to his feet, glaring over his shoulder as he fled, "You'll regret this, you fucking bitch!"

Alone again, Tamara turned back to the dying cat. Correction...dead cat. It had finally given in and passed on. She only hoped her intervention had let it pass in some measure of peace. Bending down, she placed a hand on the still warm body, speaking quietly it,

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. I hope you find some peace."

She debated about what to do with the body when a tiny sound caught her attention. The pitiful sound of a mew. Turning, Tamara saw a small ball of black fluff wobbling out of a box on its side and into the alley. The teeny feline replica of the deceased adult padded over with all the awkwardness of a newborn foal learning to walk and licked the passed cats head with a pink tongue. Her heart broke as she watched,

"Hey there...this must be your mom, huh?" Gold eyes tinted with amber and green looked at her. She reached out and scooped up the tiny kitten. The poor thing couldn't be more than 5 weeks old, it still has its milk teeth, "I know how you feel. My Papa was murdered too. Don't worry, I'll take care of you now. How's that sound?"

The baby mewed in response, nuzzling into her hands and purring softly. Tamara felt herself calm down a little. There was always hope, even when the world appeared so cruel. If she hadn't come along, those boys probably would have killed this little...She checked under the tail quickly. Boy...little boy cat.

Well, now she had to bury mothers body. Using the edge of her skirt to clean the blood from her dagger, Tamara re-sheathed the blade and looked around for something to put the body in. Settling on a box, Tamara scooped up the black kitten. After a moment of thought, she pulled out the loose front of her dress and wriggled him into the bodice before picking up the makeshift cardboard coffin and leaving. Part way through the journey, the mischievous fluffball climbed onto her shoulder and stayed there as she walked. He wobbled a bit, but managed to balance well enough.

She shifted her cargo to her hip and tried to keep a hand free, just in case he fell.

It took some time to maneuver through the town and find an area with dirt and grass. A green space in the city likely meant to be some kind of park. By that time, a good chuck of the day had passed. The sun was nearing afternoon. Tamara found a nice tall trees with lots of leaves and knelt down.

The little kitten stayed by her side as she dug with the dagger and her hands till a shallow grave was made. She laid the babies mother to rest. Afterwards, she sat with her back to the trees and let her new pet sleep in her lap as she tried to figure out what to do.

Finally, as the sun started to set, she scooped up the kitten into her arms.

"Well...guess we should find some place to sleep for the night."

Walking back into town was quiet. The stalls from the marketplace were packed up, most people had moved inside. Lights came from windows and Tamara saw the shadow of two people embrace in a hug. Her heart longed to be able to touch someone like that. She wondered if she was ever going to be able to handle physical contact again.

Her mind cast back to a open hand, waiting patiently.

There was still hope. If she could handle touching a freaking Shichibukai, she could learn to deal with people again. She just needed some time. Or at least she hoped time would be enough. Remembering her reaction to the nice man in the marketplace, she sighed a little.

"I really am horribly damaged goods now."

A shiver hit her skin and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Tamara paused and tilted her head. As she stopped, the sound of footsteps behind her paused too. Swallowing, she glanced around for some form of a public building where other people might be. No such luck, it looked like she'd wandered into a residential area. Trying to act normal, she continued walking.

The steps followed, getting louder.

Rounding a bend, Tamara stopped cold as two men walked towards her. At her act of freezing, they stopped to. Both had cruel and devious smirks on their faces. She turned to walk back the way she came. More bodies appeared behind her. Her heartbeat started to pick up. Without thinking, she stuffed her pet back into her dress.

"Stay there..." she murmured softly before shifting into a stance she remembered seeing Mihawk in during his sword practice.

It took a lot of effort to keep her face neutral and uncaring when Ripley walked out of the shadows with a second man. He had a red stained bandage on his cheek. Shifting her gaze, Tamara looked over his associate. _Big_ was the first thought that hit her. The man was hugely muscle bound with an ugly burn scar over his right cheek that extended down his neck. It was somewhat covered up by a coiling tattoo of a hissing red serpent.

"This is the girl that cut you, Ripley?" His voice was harsh and mocking.

Tamara swallowed again at the response, "That's her...scared off the potential recruits and thought she could cross the Serpents without consequences."

The inked leader of the group snorted before raising a massive fist and punching the younger teen. A yowl came from the teen as he collapsed and Tamara winced at the familiar sound of flesh on flesh. Whimpering and holding his once more bleeding face, he looked up at the monster of a man,

"What was that for, Viper?"

The muscle bound hulk glared down at him, "For assuming your scrawny ass is part of the Red Serpents. You're a peon, Ripley. Chaff used to bring in bodies, hell your more useless than the crap on my boots. Running away from some little witch of a girl."

Viper spat on the prone boy and she felt a slight bit of relief at his words. Maybe he'd just leave her alone if Ripley was considered so low in their ranks. But then those nasty eyes turned back to her and her heart sped up as she took a step back,

"Still...can't be having the Serpents name tainted by this little incident. There are consequences to crossing us, and everyone in this stinking town knows it. Except you, it looks like. Gonna need to fix that, won't we boys?"

Laughs and hardy agreements came from the others. Tamara looked around. Not counting the still prone Ripley, she saw five others. And they were all large and radiated malicious violence. She won't be scaring these guys off with a swallow cut. So then,

"I didn't even do much. And no one saw anything, you can just pass it off as your gangs version of disciple."

The tattooed Viper chortled darkly, "Oh...people will be knowing about what happened...believed me...they'll know."

Tamara gripped the daggers hilt tightly and sensed a wall at her back as the thugs closed around her in a semi-circle.


End file.
